


Fine, We’re Damaged

by asexualjuliet



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Because that plotline was stupid, Concussions, Dustin cares so much about Steve okay, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s02e09 The Gate, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Rated T for swears, Season 2 aftermath, Steve Harrington is a Damn Good Babysitter, Steve Harrington-centric, The demodog in the fridge is there, They’re all censored though, This is the longest thing I’ve ever written, Vomiting, just a little though, like a lot of them, max and el are friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 14:36:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20584115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asexualjuliet/pseuds/asexualjuliet
Summary: A look at the hours after the gate was closed.(I know season two aftermath fics are overdone but bear with me here)





	Fine, We’re Damaged

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Heathers the musical because I’m basic

They stand there in the field, the four kids and their babysitter, unsure of what to do. Mike’s weight is on one foot. Dustin rubs his face where the thing from the Upside Down got him. Max and Lucas stand together, wide-eyed and terrified. Steve takes a head count and then the headlights of Billy’s Camaro flare. 

Pain flares through Steve’s head and he shuts his eyes tight. He can still see the lights on the back of his eyelids as he sits down as gracefully as he can, tripping over his own feet and burying his face in his hands. 

“Holy shit, are you okay?” Dustin’s voice says, too loud, and Steve feels a hand on his shoulder. 

“Gimme a sec,” Steve mumbles, and after his head stops trying to kill him for the time being, he opens his eyes. 

“Is it your head?” Dustin asks worriedly, looking Steve up and down for any signs of injury. 

“I’m fine,” Steve insists, because he’s currently supposed to be taking care of four children and if the pain in his head was in charge, he’d definitely spend the remainder of the night passed out in the pumpkin patch. “Is everyone okay?”

“Yes,” says Mike at the same time that Max and Lucas say “no.”

“You’re a goddamn liar, Wheeler,” says Max, and Mike flips her the bird as Steve slowly makes his way over to where the three kids sit. 

“It’s his leg,” Lucas tells Steve as he sits down in front of them. “Where the vines got him.”

“C’mere,” says Steve, and Mike reluctantly holds out his leg. 

“Tell me if it hurts, okay?” Steve asks, rolling up the leg of Mike’s jeans. Mike nods. 

Steve winces when he sees the purple bruises that have already begun to form around Mike’s ankle. “Shit.”

Steve’s not a doctor, but he’s seen his share of injuries playing varsity basketball, and he doesn’t think it’s broken. 

“Can you move your foot?” he asks, and Mike does. “Okay, it’s probably not broken, but I don’t know the technical definition of ‘sprained,’ so we’re just gonna use the term ‘fucked up.’” Mike half-smiles. 

“Can you walk?” Steve asks. 

“Probably,” Mike says, and Lucas reaches out a hand to help him up. He tries taking a step on his bad leg and gasps. “Holy shit.”

That’s a no. 

“You two, help him to the car,” Steve nods at Lucas and Max. “We’re going back to the Byers’ place.”

Mike reluctantly takes Max’s shoulder and with her help, manages to hobble to the car. Steve gets up and tries to ignore the way his vision goes double and his stomach jumps into his throat. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Dustin’s worried voice asks from behind Steve, who turns around to see the kid, eyes still full of concern. 

“Don’t worry about me. You okay?” Steve asks, hoping his vision will go back to normal before he has to drive the kids home. 

“Yeah,” Dustin says, sniffing. Steve doesn’t comment on the tears in his eyes, instead just taking the Three Musketeers wrapper in Dustin’s hand and stuffing it in his pocket. 

“You saved us down there, kid,” he says, putting a hand on Dustin’s shoulder. “Thanks.”

Dustin smiles slightly and opens the passenger’s-side door, climbing in. 

“Hey, who the hell said you got shotgun?” Steve asks, walking around to the driver’s side. 

When he sits down and puts his foot on the pedal, there’s a wooden pedal duct-taped to it. 

“Hey, Max? What the hell,” he asks, wrenching the wood off of the pedal. 

“I’m too short to reach the real pedal,” she explains. 

“Jesus Christ, I’m the worst goddamn babysitter in the world,” Steve mutters under his breath as he finally gets the wood detached from the pedal. “Let’s go,” he says as he starts the car. 

Apparently, getting your face smashed in messes with your depth perception, because Steve can’t stay in his lane to save his life. The car swerves down the road for a while until Mike asks “Steve, what the hell?”

“It’s his head,” Lucas says. “He’s probably got a concussion.”

“I’m fine,” Steve mumbles, taking a sharp turn and hitting a mailbox. “Fuck!”

“I can drive,” says Max. 

“_That’s _ a no,” says Steve, taking another turn and fighting the nausea currently creeping up his throat. “We’re almost there anyway.”

One turn to go. An argument has broken out in the back of the car between Mike and Max. “Shut up!” Steve shouts weakly, desperately trying to take deep breaths and straighten out his vision as he takes the last turn and pulls into the Byers’ driveway. 

“Holy shit,” he mumbles, stumbling out of the car and falling to his knees on the grass. His head is spinning and he can feel this morning’s breakfast about to make a reappearance.

“Steve?” asks a faraway voice. “Dude, this is _ so _ the opposite of fine—”

Steve cuts him off by throwing up onto the grass, to which Dustin gives a little “Holy shit!” before Steve feels the kid’s hand on his back as he tries to catch his breath. 

Footsteps sound from the Byers’ porch, running towards Steve, and another voice joins Dustin’s, ringing in Steve’s ears. 

“What happened?” the voice says, and Steve’s brain can’t place it, but it’s rough and gentle, and its owner places another hand on Steve’s back as he retches again. 

Dustin’s explaining something, but all Steve can hear is the soft voice saying “That’s it, you’re okay” as a hand rubs his back. 

Taking a deep breath and spitting onto the ground, Steve looks up. Dustin is hovering over him, along with Jonathan Byers, who removes his hand from Steve’s back. 

“You good?” He asks, and when Steve nods, he holds out a hand and helps him up. 

“Is your—Is your brother okay?” Steve asks as soon as Jonathan’s supporting him, because something happened to the younger Byers kid, but Steve can’t remember what it was. 

“He’s fine,” Jonathan confirms with a small smile. Steve nods in response. Dustin offers his shoulder and Steve takes it. Slowly but surely, the three make their way into the Byers’ house. 

Steve flinches when they open the door, because the light’s too bright, and squeezes his eyes shut as his head starts to pound even harder. 

Nancy’s the first person to see them as they enter the house, standing on a chair to take down Will’s drawings from the wall. 

“Oh my God, are you okay?” she asks, and the worry in her voice almost brings a smile to Steve’s face as his eyes fly open.

“‘M fine.” His speech is slurred and Nancy shoots Jonathan a worried look before Dustin clarifies. 

“Shut up, dumbass,” Dustin says, the fondness in his voice not something Nancy expects, but she gives a confused smile nonetheless as Dustin turns back to her and says, “He’ll be fine.”

“Oh my God, Steve!” Max says loudly as they enter the living room, to which Steve winces, and Max must notice, because she responds with a small “sorry.”

Steve takes in the scene before him. Lucas scrubs the floor, stained with blood from the earlier fight with Billy, and Max cleans up the smashed plate that’s been left on the ground. Mike occupies the couch, his leg held out in front of him, and Steve can see that the bruises covering his ankle have already darkened. Will Byers sits in the armchair next to Mike, looking smaller and skinnier than ever as he curls up into himself. His hair is limp and the bags under his eyes are worrying on a kid so young, but Steve feels like going through hell and back will do that to a person. 

A scream comes from the kitchen and Dustin says “Oh, shit,” and navigates Steve to an empty armchair so quickly that Jonathan almost falls over. 

He’s not fast enough to diffuse the situation at hand, however, and Joyce Byers walks into the living room with messy hair and tired eyes. 

“Why the _ hell _ is there a monster in my fridge?” she asks, and in the swirling depths of Steve’s mind, he vaguely remembers being the one to _ put _ the monster in the refrigerator. Silence falls over the room until Dustin speaks up. 

“I’m going to preface this statement by reminding us all of the importance of preserving and cataloguing new scientific discoveries—”

Joyce sighs. “We’ll deal with it later. Jonathan, can you head out to the freezer in the garage to get some ice for Mike’s ankle?”

“Yeah, sure,” Jonathan says, heading out the door. Dustin goes to check on his scientific discovery. 

That’s when Joyce notices the bloody-faced teenage boy about to fall asleep in her favorite armchair. 

“Steve?” she asks, “Oh my God, what happened?”

“...Got hit.” Is all Steve can manage, so Lucas fills in the blanks. 

“Billy—Max’s brother—” Max punches him on the arm. “Stepbrother—he came looking for her. And he was gonna attack me, but Steve, he—he saved me.”

Joyce looks from Lucas to Steve before walking over to where Steve sits and gently tipping his chin up so she can see him. Steve’s eyes are barely open, but he can see that Joyce seems worried about him, and he can’t help but wonder why. 

Her brow is furrowed, and Max adds, “We think he has a concussion. He couldn’t drive the car straight on the way back from the tunnels, and—”

“You went to the tunnels?” Joyce asks, whipping around to face Max and Lucas, who look at each other briefly before Mike clarifies from the couch. 

“We set the hub on fire as a distraction.”

This explanation doesn’t make Joyce any calmer, and Steve mumbles from the chair, “Oh my God, I’m the worst babysitter ever.”

Before Joyce can turn on him, Dustin’s voice comes from the kitchen. 

“Wait, it’s not Steve’s fault!” He runs into the living room. “We like, totally kidnapped him!”

“_What?_” Joyce asks, trying to make sense of the story unfurling in front of her. 

“Steve told us we couldn’t go to the tunnels before Billy got here,” Dustin says slowly. “But then he beat Steve up, and Max injected him with that stuff we used to make Will fall asleep. It was totally badass.”

Joyce nods, and Dustin continues. “Steve was unconscious, so we took him in Billy’s car and drove to the tunnels.”

“Who was _ driving_?” Joyce asks, because she’s reasonably sure it wasn’t Billy Hargrove. 

Max faces her with a little wave and a guilty smile, and it’s a testament to how much Joyce has seen in the past week that she doesn’t think twice about it. 

“He totally saved my life too,” Mike pipes up from the couch. “The vines got me, and he saved me. That’s how my ankle got all fucked up.”

“_Language_, Michael,” Joyce chides him, and Jonathan enters the room again. “Hopper’s back,” he says, gesturing to the headlights now shining through the front window. 

“Oh, thank God,” Joyce mutters under her breath. Jonathan places the bag of ice from the freezer—slightly melted because he spent maybe too long talking to Nancy in the front room before returning to the living room—on Mike’s ankle. 

“Is that good?” Jonathan asks, and Mike nods. 

“Thanks, Jonathan.”

Jonathan nods, and then the front door opens. Hopper enters, a little girl asleep on his back who Steve thinks is probably the mysterious Eleven/El/Jane. 

“She can take my bed,” Joyce tells Hopper, who nods and walks down the hallway to put the girl down. 

“Here,” a voice says from Steve’s side, and it’s Jonathan Byers again, holding out another bag of ice for Steve. “Your head looks like it hurts like a bitch.” 

“Thanks,” Steve mumbles, grabbing the ice and holding it to his head before shutting his eyes to go to sleep. 

“Hey, don’t sleep yet,” Jonathan says, shaking his shoulder. “Hopper’s gotta check you out first.”

Steve groans, rubbing the sleep out of his bleary eyes and sitting up a bit straighter as Hopper walks back into the living room. 

“Jesus Christ, kid,” Hopper says, “What the hell happened to you?”

“He got the living crap beat out of him by Billy Hargrove,” Dustin says, walking toward Steve again. Hopper raises his eyebrows. 

“Max’s stepbrother was going to attack Lucas, but Steve stepped in and got beat up,” Will says quietly from the chair on the other side of the room. “We think he has a concussion.”

“Okay, kid.” Hopper says. “You dizzy?”

“Mmhmm,” Steve says, watching the ceiling spin above him. 

“Nauseous?” Hopper asks. 

“Kinda. Dunno,” says Steve. 

“He threw up earlier,” points out Jonathan. 

Hopper sighs. “Any double vision?”

“A little,” Steve murmurs. 

“He couldn’t drive the car straight when he drove us home,” says Dustin. 

“He drove like this?” Hopper asks, slightly impressed. 

“He knocked out a mailbox. But he led us through the tunnels, too.”

“Tunnels?”

“Yeah, we—”

“Unimportant,” Jonathan cuts in. 

“He was fine then, though,” Dustin finishes. 

“Adrenaline’s a hell of a drug, kid.” Hopper turns back to Steve. “I’m gonna ask you some questions, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve repeats back. 

“What year is it?” Hopper asks, hoping upon hope that the kid can answer it and won’t have to go to the hospital, because Lord knows they’ve had enough excitement for one night. 

“‘84,” Steve says. “1984.”

“Good. Do you know where you are?”

“The Byers’ place.” Steve says, and then— “Hawkins, Indiana.”

Hopper nods. “Full name?”

“Steven Elliott Harrington.”

“Elliott?” Dustin asks. Steve flips him off. 

“You’ve got a concussion, Harrington.” Hopper claps him on the shoulder and Steve groans. “You’ll be fine.”

“C’n I sleep?” Steve asks. 

Hopper chuckles. “Sure, kid.”

Steve curls up in the chair and closes his eyes, finally letting sleep take him. 

—

When Steve wakes up, there’s a woman standing over him. As her face slowly comes into focus, Steve forces himself to sit up. “Hi, Mrs. Byers.”

“Call me Joyce, sweetie,” she says. “We gotta get your face cleaned up, okay?”

Steve puts a hand to his head and it comes away bloody. “Shit.”

Joyce is still at his side with a kind smile. “Can you stand up?”

“Yeah, gimme a sec.” Steve gets up and his vision goes blurry. “Woah,” he says, sitting back down. 

“That’s okay, honey,” Joyce says. “I’ll be back, okay?”

Steve nods, and Joyce walks away. 

“Fuck, Steve, you scared me,” says Dustin’s quiet voice from the chair beside him. His eyes are red and puffy, and he’s definitely been crying.

“Sorry, shithead.” Steve says with a smile, and Dustin gets up and hugs him. 

Steve hasn’t been hugged in a long time. Nancy might have hugged him while they were dating, but she’s probably the only one who has since he was little. 

Dustin’s hug is nice. It makes Steve feel important, and after a few seconds, he hugs back. 

Joyce is back a few seconds later, with a wet cloth and antiseptic. She smiles when she sees Dustin in Steve’s arms, and waits until Dustin releases Steve to start her work. 

“Dustin!” A shout comes from the kitchen. “Max found chocolate pudding!”

“Holy shit!” Dustin exclaims, jumping up and running for the pudding. 

“Language!” Joyce calls after him, rolling her eyes. 

“Here, honey,” she says, turning her attention back to Steve and starting to wipe the blood off of his face. 

“Thanks,” he says, and Joyce smiles. 

“Of course, sweetheart.”

“Steve, there’s so much chocolate pudding!” Dustin calls through a mouthful of said pudding. 

Steve smiles despite his split lip. “Save some for me, shithead!”

“You’re so good with them,” Joyce says softly, peeling the band-aids off Steve’s face. “Sorry, sweetheart,” she adds when he winces.

“Am I?” Steve asks, because the kids have almost died multiple times under his care, and he’s only been in charge for one day. 

“Absolutely.” When Steve doesn’t say anything else, she continues. “You know Dustin cares so much about you. He was so worried about you when you fell asleep.”

“Dork,” Steve smiles, but Joyce can see a look of fondness creep up upon his bloody, bruised features. 

“I have to clean your cuts now, honey, I’m sorry,” Joyce says, starting to smear the cleaning ointment onto Steve’s wounds. 

Steve bites back a long string of curses as she cleans his face, because _ Jesus Christ, that hurts. _

“Sorry,” she murmurs again, but soon she’s done and begins to apply gauze to the spot on Steve’s head where Billy smashed the plate. 

“I—I’m sorry about your—about Bob.” Steve says clumsily, suddenly remembering that Joyce’s boyfriend was brutally murdered not five hours ago. 

Joyce smiles sadly. “He was a hero. Don’t waste your sorries on me.” Steve just nods as Joyce finishes bandaging his face up. “You’re all done, honey.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Byers,” Steve says as she walks away. 

“Call me Joyce!” She calls back. Steve smiles. 

“How’s your head?” comes a voice from the couch. It’s Wheeler. His foot’s been wrapped up since Steve fell asleep, and he looks like he’s in less pain than he was before. 

“I’ll live,” Steve says, smirking. “Is your ankle any better?”

“Yeah.” Mike says. “Thanks, by the way. For everything.” He’s blushing, and Steve figures it’s not easy for him to thank his big sister’s shitty ex-boyfriend. 

“No prob, kid. Any of you get killed on my watch and I’m _ really _ dead.”

Mike chuckles, and all of a sudden, Steve notices the empty chair where Will was sitting last time he checked. “Hey, where’s little Byers?”

“He had a fever, so his mom made him go to sleep.” Mike explains, and he can’t hide the look of worry in his eyes for his best friend. 

“He’ll be fine. He’s a damn tough kid,” Steve assures Mike, who smiles. 

“Yeah.”

“Steve, there’s five chocolate puddings left! Speak now or forever hold your peace!”

“You want one?” Steve asks Mike. 

“Sure.”

“Get us three over here!” Steve calls, making a mental note to save one for Will. “Wait, do you think your girlfriend wants one?”

“She’s not my—”

“Four!”

“Goddammit, Steve!” Dustin calls back, and Steve and Mike share a look, broken by Max walking in and dropping two pudding cups onto Steve’s lap. Steve opens one and puts one in his pocket to save for Will. 

“Mine?” Mike asks, to which Max chucks a pudding cup at him, hitting him in the face. 

Mike gives her the most dead-inside look Steve’s ever seen before she throws the second pudding cup at him, hitting him in his injured ankle. 

“Shit!” She exclaims, just as Mike grabs his foot and yells “Son of a bitch!”

“Oh, holy shit, holy shit, I’m sorry!” Max squeals. “I actually didn’t mean to this time!”

“Fuck,” is all Mike says as he extends his leg once more. Max grabs the bag of ice that fell to the floor when Mike flinched, and starts to put it on his ankle again before realizing, “Hey, dumbass, this isn’t even ice, it’s just cold water.”

Mike glares at her before she gives in. “I’ll get you some more,” she promises, before yelling, “Hey, Lucas, Dustin, where’s the freezer?”

“It’s in the garage,” Jonathan answers as he walks into the room with a stack of Will’s scribbles that he immediately dumps into the trash. “Here, I’ll show you.”

“Thanks,” Max says as Jonathan leads her outside to the garage. 

“Hey, Maxine, you forgot some fucking _ spoons_!” calls Mike as he watches Steve attempt to eat his pudding cup without a spoon. 

“Fuck you, Wheeler!” She calls back, and Steve can only assume she’s flipping him off. 

“Dustin!” Mike yells, “We need spoons!” At that moment, a little girl walks into the room, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. She’s small, but manages to look fierce with her leather jacket and slicked-back hair. “Mike?”

Steve isn’t exaggerating when he says that Mike’s eyes literally light up upon realizing Eleven has entered the room. 

“Hey,” he says, in a voice softer than Steve’s ever heard him use. “I saved you some pudding.”

She appears to mull over the meaning of the word before asking, “Chocolate goo you eat with a spoon?”

Mike’s face breaks into the biggest smile Steve’s ever seen. “Yeah! Yeah, that’s right!”

Eleven takes the pudding he offers and begins to observe his swelled-up ankle. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Mike says, “Really. I fell in the tunnels, but Steve totally saved my life.”

Eleven just raises her eyebrows, and Steve assumes it’s because of the aforementioned tunnels, but Mike points to him and tells El, “That’s Steve.”

“Hi,” he says, waving a little, and the girl walks over to him. 

“You’re Nancy’s... person?”

Steve laughs, and El looks confused. “No, not anymore. I used to be.” El nods before Steve adds, “Jonathan is her... person now.”

El nods again in understanding. “Your head...” she trails off with a concerned look on her face.

“I’m fine,” he reassures her, smiling. 

“He actually is fine,” Dustin cuts in, just walking into the room, “Not just bullshitting it like earlier.” El smiles. “Your spoons, my lords,” he says, bowing down to give Mike and Steve their spoons before handing El hers. 

“Thank you,” she says. 

“We missed you,” Dustin says a little more seriously. “And by the way, that thing where you killed the Demogorgon last year? Badass.”

“Badass,” El repeats, accepting the hug Dustin gives her. 

“Dustin!” Lucas screams from the kitchen, “Hopper just took the last pudding!”

“Goddammit!” Dustin yells, running back to the kitchen. 

Max reenters the living room with two more bags of ice, gently placing the first in Mike’s hands and yelling, “Here’s your ice, bitches!”

“Thanks,” Mike says, chuckling when Max whips the second bag of ice at Steve, only missing his face due to Steve’s quick instincts. 

“Thanks a million, Maxine, darling,” he says, and Max flips him off. 

Eleven is looking at Max with a strange look on her face, but Steve doesn’t know what it is. 

“Hey,” she says with a soft smile. “Heard you totally saved our ass tonight. Thanks.”

El nods, still not smiling, then after looking at Max for a few seconds asks, “Are you... going to the Snow Ball with Mike?”

Mike nearly chokes on his pudding, and if Steve still had pudding in his mouth, he would’ve spit it out laughing. El looks confused, and Max says “Jesus. Oh, God, no. Wheeler’s all yours.”

El’s mouth forms a small “o” and she holds out her hand as Max had earlier. “I’m El.”

“I know,” Max giggles. “You’re all anyone talks about around here. Especially that one,” she says, nodding at Mike. 

“Screw you!” he says, but he’s kind of smiling. 

“Hey, El, I’ve got an extra sweatshirt if you want it.” Max says, “That jacket’s totally badass, but it looks uncomfortable as hell.” El appears to consider this for a moment before shrugging and accepting the offer. 

Before leaving the room, she hands her pudding and spoon to Mike. “Keep it safe from Dustin.” 

Mike laughs. “Sure,” he says, and the girls leave the room. 

“You’re so soft for her,” Steve whispers loudly, and Mike just glares at him.

“How’s the face, Harrington?” asks Nancy, walking through the living room on her mission to scout the entire house for Will’s scribbled drawings. 

“It’s been a hell of a lot worse,” Steve says. 

Nancy nods kindly. “Heard you totally saved Mike’s ass down there.”

“Nancy!” Mike whines, and she ruffles his hair with a smirk. 

“Whatever, dork,” she smiles, picking up Mike’s pudding cup from the coffee table and going into the kitchen to throw it away. 

“You still like her,” Mike says, and it’s not a question so much as a statement. 

Steve opens his mouth to argue, but soon realizes that Mike’s got a point and resorts to chucking a pillow at him. 

“Hey! I think it’s cute!” says Mike, stopping when Jonathan enters the room. 

“Hey. You guys okay?” he asks. 

“We’re _ fine_,” Mike groans. “Seriously, you’re like the sixth person to come check on us tonight.”

“I was mostly checking on Steve,” Jonathan says. “Y’know, since he spent a good half an hour being barely coherent after he puked up his guts in the front yard.”

Steve blushes. “_Dude_.”

“Sorry,” says Jonathan with a smile. 

“How’s Will?” Steve asks, changing the subject. 

“For a kid who’s had a demon inside him for the past week? Pretty good,” Jonathan says. “For any other kid, pretty shitty.”

“Is he okay?” Mike interrupts from the couch. 

“He’s sick and tired as hell, but he’ll be fine,” Jonathan assures him. 

Mike nods, just as El and Max come back into the room, El’s hair now mostly free of hairspray and the sweatshirt she’s wearing looking soft and cozy. 

“You look pretty,” Mike tells her, starry eyed, and she blushes. 

“Pudding?” She asks, holding out her hands. Mike laughs, giving her the pudding cup and spoon before she sits down and starts to eat it. 

She seems amused by its consistency, and Steve’s pretty sure she spends more time playing with the pudding than actually eating it. She drops a fair bit of it on the ground, eyes going wide until Max says, “It’s okay, I got it,” and heads to the kitchen to grab some paper towels. 

El looks at Mike, who nods his head. “It’s fine.”

“Kids?” Joyce calls, “It’s probably time to go to sleep.”

All the kids groan, with the exception of El, who continues to eat her pudding, somewhat entranced by it. It’s cute, Steve thinks, and he’s glad she’s okay. 

Because apparently, he’s going soft for a bunch of middle schoolers. 

“We don’t have any other clothes,” Lucas points out, walking into the living room with Dustin and Nancy, “And everyone who went down to the tunnels was covered in gross Upside Down goo at some point today, and I think someone said something about that being toxic.”

Joyce sighs. “Shit.”

“They can borrow my clothes,” Jonathan volunteers. “If they don’t mind everything being too big.”

“Oh, thank you, honey,” Joyce says. “Max, El, Nancy, you can borrow some of mine.”

Max gives a thumbs up and Nancy a “Thanks, Mrs. Byers!” El licks her pudding cup clean. 

“Come here, girls,” Joyce says, beckoning them down the hallway. 

Jonathan retreats to his room, coming back a few seconds later with an assortment of t-shirts and sweatpants that he dumps on the coffee table. “Have at it.”

Dustin pounces first, declaring that the green t-shirt is his because green is his favorite color. 

“Jesus, Dustin, calm it,” Lucas says, selecting a red t-shirt and a pair of gray pants from the pile. 

Mike reaches for the table, getting as close as he can from his spot on the couch without falling off. 

“Here,” Lucas says, throwing him a gray t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. 

Mike makes a face and tosses the shirt back. “I wanted the yellow one.”

Lucas sticks out his tongue at Mike before throwing the yellow t-shirt at him. 

Steve supposes that means the remaining shirt and pair of pants are his, and he gets up to grab them, almost falling over when the room starts spinning. Jonathan catches him before he topples to the ground, and Steve collapses into the armchair. 

“Why the hell am I still dizzy?” He asks, waiting for his vision to return to normal. “It’s been, like, three hours.”

“Because Billy Hargrove beat the living crap out of you,” provides Dustin in a rather matter-of-fact tone, now wearing Jonathan’s green shirt and looking rather proud of it, despite the fact that it almost reaches down to his knees. Steve just glares at him, changing into the outfit Jonathan provided, and the other two do the same. 

The girls are back not soon afterwards. Max wears an old Beatles t-shirt and a pair of plaid pants that more than reach the floor. Nancy’s wearing a similar outfit that fits much better on her, and El’s in a pink flowered nightgown. 

“Pretty,” Mike says again, and El blushes, then twirls around, letting the skirt of her dress twirl with her. “Did Nancy show you that?”

El nods, and Nancy calls from across the room, “Work it, El!” El twirls again and Mike laughs. 

“Really, really pretty,” he assures her, and El smiles before Steve’s attention is drawn away from them by Joyce, Hopper, and Jonathan dragging three air mattresses into the room. 

“I call this one!” Dustin screams, jumping on said air mattress as soon as Hopper lets go of it. “Steve’s sharing with me!”

Steve’s surprised by Dustin’s newfound desire to be close to him, but it’s not an unpleasant surprise. Steve smiles and says “Sure, shithead, but you’re gonna have to drag me out of this chair first!”

“I’ll take this one,” Lucas says, jumping on another mattress. 

“I’ll share!” Exclaims Max, diving for Lucas’ mattress. 

“El and I’ll take the last one,” Hopper says, and El skips over to the last mattress before falling back onto it and giggling. 

“I guess I’ve got the couch, then,” says Mike, “Since I’m already here and I refuse to move.”

“Does everyone have a place to sleep?” Joyce asks, and everyone answers yes. “Oh, Nancy, we need a spot for you!”

Nancy’s eyes go wide and she blushes. “I was gonna—”

Joyce raises her eyebrows as she notices Nancy’s hand in Jonathan’s, and Steve feels a little pang of jealousy. 

“I’ll be right next door,” she warns, and Jonathan and Nancy head off hand in hand. 

Dustin must see the look on Steve’s face, because he gets up and says “Come on, Steve,” offering his shoulder to the older boy to lean on. 

Steve accepts it, and he thinks that maybe his head is getting better, because he can almost see straight when he gets up, and though his head is pounding, he doesn’t feel sick like he did before. 

He collapses on the air mattress and Dustin says “Hey, save some room for me!” Steve smiles and takes up even more of the mattress. “Asshole,” Dustin mutters, pushing Steve’s arm out of the way so he can lie down. 

Joyce distributes blankets and pillows, and soon the lights are out and mostly all is silent, save for Max and Lucas whispering back and forth and giggling through the night. 

Steve looks around. El appears to be asleep already, curled up into Hopper’s side. Hopper holds her so gently that Steve smiles despite himself. Lucas and Max are far from asleep, whispering about something or other so quietly that Steve can’t pick it up. Mike’s head is hanging upside down off the couch, but his eyes are wide open and they meet Steve’s in the dark. 

Steve smiles and Mike smiles back, sticking his tongue out and touching his nose. Steve attempts to do the same but can’t, and Mike chuckles quietly. Steve goes to flip him off, but his attention is drawn back to Dustin when he feels the kid curl up beside him. 

Steve doesn’t think twice before placing an arm around the kid, whose eyes go wide but who accepts it, and both boys close their eyes and slowly but surely drift off into sleep. 

—

Steve hasn’t slept through the night since 1983, so it’s no surprise to him when his eyes snap open around three in the morning. 

A noise comes from the kitchen, water running from a faucet, and Steve looks around on the floor next to him to take a headcount. After confirming that everyone’s there, Steve extricates himself from Dustin’s arms to go see what’s going on. 

His head is definitely better than it was last night, but his vision’s still fuzzy around the edges as he moves unsteadily from the living room to the kitchen. 

Will Byers stands at the counter, filling up a glass of water at the sink, and he looks up when Steve walks in. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” he says softly, and Steve can tell he feels guilty. 

“You didn’t. I—” Steve stops. He can’t tell a kid this damaged about his dreams. What’s happened to Steve in the past year has nothing on what’s happened to Will. If Will can get through that, he can get through this. 

“Nightmares?” The kid’s small voice cuts through Steve’s train of thought as he starts to fill up another glass. 

“I—” Steve starts. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not,” Will assures Steve, handing him the second glass of water and taking a sip for himself before sitting down at the kitchen table. “You just wanted to make out with Nancy Wheeler and you ended up involved in a government conspiracy. I think monster hunting’s worth having nightmares over.”

Steve ignores the bit about Nancy. “You’ve gone through so much more than any of us,” he tells Will, “And you’re still standing. I show up a week late to the party while Jonathan and Nancy are trying to summon a monster, and I feel like I’m about to fall apart.”

Will’s brow furrows. “I...” he takes a deep breath. “I’m _ barely _ standing.”

The kid’s eyes are wide and they’re so filled with despair. 

“I barely ever sleep and I have these _ episodes_, and I guess I won’t have them anymore because the—the Mind Flayer’s gone, but sometimes I feel—” Will swipes at the tears threatening to escape his eyes. “I feel like it’s chasing me.” He takes another breath before going on. 

“Sometimes it’s the shadows and sometimes it’s the demogorgon and sometimes I can’t tell what it is but it’s like I can’t breathe, and I—” He stops. “Have you ever felt paralyzed by fear?”

“Yes.” Steve says immediately, looking into Will’s eyes. 

Because he can remember the day he walked into Jonathan Byers’ house and a monster came out of the wall. He can remember barely being able to move, barely being able to breathe, his brain screaming at him that it’s not real, that it can’t be real, but somehow it is because it’s right in front of him and—

“Yes.” He says again, nodding. “I have.”

“That’s how it is,” Will says. “That’s how... _I_ am.”

Steve’s heart aches for the little boy in front of him in the too-big Star Wars pajamas. More than anything, Steve wants to keep this kid safe. To wrap him up in a blanket and keep any harm from coming to him. 

But he knows he can’t do that, so offers the next best thing and holds his arms out for a hug.

Will smiles shakily and accepts, wrapping his arms around Steve tighter than Steve would’ve thought such a tiny kid would have in him to do. 

“Jesus, kid, you’re warm,” Steve says when Will pulls away, putting a hand to the kid’s forehead and wincing at the heat coming off of him. 

“I know,” Will sighs. “Mom made me go to bed, but I couldn’t sleep.”

“You feel okay?” Steve asks. 

“‘M fine. Just tired. And sorta hot but then cold at the same time.”

“That’s a fever, kid. You sure you shouldn’t be in bed?” Steve asks. 

Because apparently, over the course of the day, he’s adopted six children as his own. 

Will shrugs. “I was hungry.”

“Do you want some pudding?” Steve starts to get up to retrieve it, because even if Will doesn’t want it, he’ll gladly eat it himself. 

“We’re out,” Will says. “Dustin was here.”

“No, I saved one for you,” Steve says, finding it in the pile of his clothes he’d dropped on the floor and coming back to the kitchen with the pudding in his hand. 

“Really?” Will asks, “Thanks!”

“No prob, kid.”

They sit there, Will eating his pudding and Steve sipping his water, and they talk a little, and it’s nice. 

All in all, Steve thinks, fate picked him a pretty damn good group of people to join. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!!
> 
> All mistakes are my own, please don’t hesitate to point them out!
> 
> Kudos/Comments are much appreciated!!


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